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Ster. The devil he is!—That's bad. very much alarmed about thieves at circuit
Miss S. And he has been there some time time. They would be particularly severe with too.
us gentlemen of the bar. Ster. Ditto!
Trav. No danger, Mr. Sterling-no tresMrs. H. Ditto! worse and worse, I say. I'll pass, I hope? raise the house, and expose him to my lord, Ster. None, gentlemen, but of those ladies' and the whole fammaly.
making. Ster. By no means! we shall expose our- Mrs. H. You'll be asham'd to know, gentleselves, sister!—The best way is to insure pri- men, that all your labours and studies about vately-let me alone! I'll make him marry this young lady are thrown away-Sir John her io-morrow morning.
Melvil is at this moment locked up with this Miss S. Make him marry her! this is beyond lady's younger sister. all patience !-- You have thrown away all your Flow. The thing is a little extraordinary, affection, and I shall do as much by my obe- to be sure ; but, why were we to be frightená dience ; unnatural fathers make unnatural out of our beds for this? Could not we bave. children. My revenge is in my own power, tried this cause to-morrow morning? and I'll indulge it.-Had they made their es- Miss S. But, sir, by to-morrow morning, cape, I should have been exposed to the de- perhaps, even your assistance would not have rision of the world: but the 'deriders shall be been of any service—the birds now in that derided; and so-Help, help, there !—Thieves! cage would have flown away. thieves!
Mrs. H. Tit-for-tat, Betsy! you are right, Enter Lord Ogleby, in his Robe-de-chammy girl.
bre, Night-cap, etc. leaning on Canton. Sier. Zounds! you'll spoil all-you'll raise the whole family-The devil's in the girl. Lord 0. I bad rather lose a limb than my
Mrs. H. No, no; the devil's in you, brother: night's rest. What's the matter with you all? I am ashamed of your principles. - What! Ster. Ay, ay, 'tis all over!-Here's my lord, would you connive at your daughter's being too, locked up with her sister's husband? Help! Lord 0. What's all this shrieking and Thieves! thieves, I say!
[Cries out. screaming? Where's my angelic Fanny? She's Ster. Sister, I beg you! daughter, I com- sare, I hope? mand you!—If you have no regard for me, Mrs. H. Your angelic Fanny, my lord, is consider yourselves!- we shall lose this op-lock'd up with your angelic nephew in thal portunity of ennobling our blood, and getting chamber. above twenty per cent, for our money.
Lord O. My nephew! Then will I be exMiss S. What, by my disgrace and my communicated. sister's triumph? I have a spirit above such Mrs. H. Your nephew, my lord, has been mean considerations: and to show you that plotting to run away with miss Fanny, and it is not a low-bred, vulgar, 'Change-alley miss Fanny has been plotting to run away spirit-Help! help! Thieves: thieves ! thieves, with your nephew: and if we had not watched I say!
them and call'd up the fammaly, they had Ster. Ay, ay, you may save your lungs- been upon the scamper to Scotland by this the house is in an uproar.
Lord O. Lookye, ladies! I know that sir Enter Canton, in a Night-gown and Slippers. John has conceived a violent passion for miss
Can. Eh, diable! vat is de raison of dis Fanny; and I know too that miss Fanny bas great noise, dis tintamarre?
conceived a violent passion for another perSter. Ask those ladies, sir; 'tis of their son; and I am so well convinced of the recmaking
titude of her affections, that I will support Lord o. (Calls within) Brush!-Brush!- them with my fortune, my honour, and my Canton !-Where are you?- What's the mat- life.-Eh, shan't I Mr. Sterling? (Smiling) ter? [Rings a Bell] Where are you? What say you?
Ster. 'Tis my lord calls, Mr. Canton. Ster. (Šulkily] To be sure, my lord.Can. I com, mi lor!
These bawling women bave been the ruin of [Exit. L. Ogleby still rings. every thing.
[Aside. Flow. (Calls within] A light! a light here! Lord 0. But come, I'll end this business in -where are the servants ? Bring a light for a trice - If you, ladies, will compose yourme and my brothers.
selves, and Mr. Sterling will ensure miss Fanny Ster. Lights here! lights for the gentlemen! from violence, I will engage to draw her
[Exit. from her pillow with a whisper through the Mrs. H. My brother feels, I see-your sis-key-bole. ter's turn will come next.
Mrs. H. The horrid creatures! I say, my Miss S. Ay, ay, let it go round, madam, it lord, break the door open. is the only comfort I have left.
Lord 0. Let me beg of your delicacy not
to be too precipitate! Now to our experiment! Re-enter STERLING , with Lights, before
[Advancing towards the Door. SERGEANT FLOWER, with one Boot and a Miss S. Now, what will they do? My heart Slipper, and TRAVERSE.
will beat through my bosom. Ster. This way, sir! this way, gentlemen! Flow. Well but, Mr. Sterling, no danger,
Re-enter Betty, with the Key. I hope? Have they made a burglarious entry?. Bet. There's no occasion for breaking open Are you prepared to repulse them? I am doors, my lord; we have done nothing that
we ought to be ashamed of, and
mistress Love. By that right which makes me the shall face her enemies.
happiest of men! and by a title which I (Going to unlock the Door. would not forego for any the best of kings Mrs. H. There's impudence!
could give. Lord 0. The mystery thickens. Lady of Bet. I could cry my eyes out to bear bis the bed-chamber, [To Betty] open the door, magnanimity. and entreat sir John Melvil (for the ladies Lord 0. I am annihilated! will have it that he is there) to appear,
and Ster. I have been choaked with rage and answer to high crimes and misdemeanors.- wonder; but now I can speak. - Lovewell
, -Call sir John Melvil into the court! you are a villain You bave broke word
with me. Enter Sir John Melvil, on the other side. Fan. Indeed, sir, he has not-you forbade Sir J. I am here, my lord.
him to think of me, when it was out of his Mrs. H. Hey-day!
power to obey you-we have been married Sir J. What's all this alarm and confusion? ihese four months. There is nothing but hurry in this house! Ster. And he sban't stay in my house four What is the reason of it?
hours. What baseness and treachery! As for Lord 0. Because you have been in that you, you shall repent this step as long as chamber ;--have been? nay, you are there at you live, madam! this moment, as these ladies' bave protested, Fan. Indeed, sir, it is impossible to conso don't deny it
ceive the tortures I have already endured in Trav. This is the clearest alibi I ever knew, consequence of my, disobedience. My heart Mr. Sergeant.
has continually upbraided me for it; and Flow. Luce clarius.
though I was too weak to struggle with alLord 0. Upon my word, ladies, if you fection, I feel that I must be miserable for have often these frolics, it would be really ever without your forgiveness. entertaining to pass a whole summer with Ster. Lovewell, you shall leave my house you. But come [To Betty] open the door, directly! and you shall follow him, inadam! and entreat your amiable” misiress to come Lord O. And if they do, I will receive forth and dispel all our doubls with her them into mine. Lookye, Mr. Sterling, there smiles.
have been some mistakes, which we bad all betBet. [Opening the Door] Madam, you are ter forget for our own sakes; and the best way, wanted in this room.
(Pertly. to forget them, is to forgive the cause of Enter Fanny, in great confusion. them; which I do from my soul.-Poor girl! Miss S. You see she's ready dressed—and I swore to support her affection with what confusion she's in!
and fortune; 'tis a debt of honour, and must Mrs. H. Ready to pack off, bag and bag- be paid- You swore as much too, Mr. Stergage! Her guilt confounds her!
ling; but your laws in the city will excuse Flow. Silence in the court, ladies!
suppose; for you never strike a balance Fan. I am confounded, indeed, madam! without-errors excepted.
Lord 0. Don't droop, my beauteous lily! Ster. I am a father, my lord; but for the but with your own peculiar modesty declare sake of all other fathers, I think I ought not to your state of mind. - Pour conviction into forgive her, for fear of encouraging other silly ibeir ears, and rapture into mine. [Smiling.girls, like herself, to throw themselves away
Fon. I am at this moment the most un- without the consent of their parents, happy-most distressed – the tumult is too Love. I hope there will be no danger of much for my beart—and I want the power that, sir. Young ladies, with minds like my to reveal a secret, which to conceal bas been Fanny's, would startle at the very shadow of the misfortune and misery of my
vice ; and when they know to what uneasiness [Faints away. only an indiscretion has exposed her, her ex
ample, instead of encouraging, will rather LOVEWELL rushes out of the Chamber.
serve to deter them. Love. My Fanny in danger! I can contain Mrs. H. Indiscretion, quotha! a mighty no longer!' Prudence were now a crime; all pretty delicate word to express obedience! other cares were lost in this! Speak, speak, Lord 0. For my part, I indulge my own speak to me, my dearest Fanny!' let me but passions too much to tyrannise over those hear thy voice: open your eyes, and bless of other people. Poor souls! I pity them. me with the smallest sign of life!
And you must forgive them too. Come, come, [During this Speech they are all in melt a little of your flint, Mr. Sterling! Amazement. Ster. Why, why, as to that, my
lord Miss S. Lovewell!-I am easy.
to be sure, he is a relation of yours, my lord Mrs. H. I am thunderstruck!
-Wbat say you, sister Heidelberg? Lord (. I am petrified !
Mrs. H. The girl's ruin'd, and I forgive her. Sir J. And I undone,
Ster. Well-so do I then.-Nay, no thanks Fan. [Recovering] 0, Lovewell!-- even -[To Lovewell and Fanny, who seem presupported by thee, I dare not look my father paring to speak] - there's an end of the por bis lordship in the face.
matter. Ster. What now? did not I send you to Lord O. But, Lovewell, what makes you London, sir?
dumb all this while? Lord O. Eh !-What! How's this? By what Love. Your kindness, my lord-I can scarce right and title bave you been half the night believe my own senses-they are all in a tu in that lady's bed-chamber?
mult of fear, joy, love, expectation, and grali
tude; I ever was, and am now more bound saved me, yourself, and that lady (who I hope in duty to your lordship.--For you, Mr. Ster- will pardon my behaviour), a great deal of ling, if every moment of my life, spent grale- uneasiness. Give me leave, however, to asfully in your service, will in some measure sure you that light and capricious as I may compensate the want of fortune, you perhaps have appeared, now my infatuation is over, I will not repent your goodness to me. And have sensibility enough to be ashamed of the you, ladies, I flatler myself, will not for the part I have acted, and honour enough to refuture suspect me of artifice and intrigue - I joice at your happiness. sball be bappy to oblige and serve you. -- As Love. And now, my dearest Fanny, though for you, sir John
we are seemingly the happiest of beings, yet Sir J. No apologies to me, Lovewell; I do all our joys will be damped, if his lordship's not deserve any. All I have to offer in ex-generosity and Mr. Sterling's forgiveness should cuse for what has happened, is my total igno- not be succeeded by the indulgence, approba-. rance of your situation. Had you dealt a tion, and consent of these our best benefactors, little more openly with me, you would have
[To the Audience. Exeunt.
Was born at Elphin, in the county of Roscommon, in Ireland, November 29, 1728. His father, the Rev. Clarles Goldsmith had four sons, of whom Oliver was the third, He was instructed in the classics at the school of Mr. Hughes, at Edgeworthstown, in the county of Longford: whence he was removed to Trinity College, Dublin, where he was admitted a sizar on the sith of June 1746. Al the university he exhibited no specimen of that genius which distingaished him in his maturer years. On the 27th of February 1749, 0, S, (two years after the regular time), he obtained the degree of bachelor of orts. Ile then turned his thoughts to the profession of physic; and after allerding come courses of anatomy in Dublin, proceeded to Edinburgh in the year 1751, where he studied the several branches of medicine under the different professors in that university. Here, however, that incaulinus spirit of benevolence, which so strongly marked his life, soon involved him in difficulties. Having improdently engaged as security, in a considerable sum of money, for a fellow-student, who, from want either of means or of principle, failed to pay the debt, he sought to shun the horrors of imprisonment by a precipitate flight; and early in the year 1754 be reached Sunderland. In this place, howeyer, he had not been long before he was arrested, at the suit of Mr. Barclay, a tailor in Edinburgh, the person to whom he had imprudently become security for his friend. From this difficulty he was at length released by the kindness of Dr. Sleigh and Mr. Laughlin Maclaine, whose friendship he probably acquired at the College of Edinburgh. He then embarked for Rotterdam, proceeded to Leyden, where he resided about a year, stadying chemistry and auslomy, and afterwards visited a great part of Flanders and Brabant, on foot, subsisting frequently by his voluntary performances on the German flute; his learning, we are told, made him a welcome guest to the monks, and his pipe to the peasants. After passing some time al Strasbourg and Louvain (where he oblained the degree of bachelor in physic) he accompanied an English gentleman to Berne and Geneva. On his arrival at the latter place, it is said, he was recommended as a proper person to be travelling tutor to a young man who had heen unexpeeledly left a considerable sum of money by his uncle, Mr. S-, a pawnbroker, near Holborn. This youth, who had been articled to an attorney, on receipt of his fortune, determined to see the world; bul, on engaging with Goldsmith, as his preceptor, made a proviso that he should be permitted to govern himself; and our traveller soon found that his pupil understood extremely well the art of directing in morey concerns, for avarice was his predominant passion. During Goldsmith's continuance in Switzerland, he assidnously cultivated a poetical talent, of which he bad given some promising proofs at the college of Edinburgh; and it was from hence that he sent the first sketch (about 200 lines) of his poem called The Traveller, to bis brother Henry, a clergyman in Ireland, who, with a beloved wife, was living in retirement and obscurily, on an income of forly pounds a year. With a youth of a disposition so opposite to his own, as it appears his pupil was, it will not be supposed that Goldsmith could long continue. A disagreement happened on their arrival in the South of France, where the young man paid hin such part of his salary as remained due, and embarked at Marseilles for England. Our wanderer was left once more upon ihe wide world, and encountered numberless difficulties, in trayersing the greater part of France ; whence, his curiosity being gratified, he bent his course toward England, and arrived at Dover in the winter of 1757--58. When he reached London, his slock of cash did not amount to two livres. Ile applied to several apothecaries, in the hope of engaging himself as a journeyman; but his awkward appearance, and bruad Irish accent, almost every wbere met with repulse and insult: at length a chemist, near Fish Street Hill, struck with bis forlorn condition, and the simplicity of his manner, employed hin in his laboratory where he remained till he learned that his old friend Dr. Sleigh was in town. The worth y Doctor received Goldsmith into his family, and undertook to support him till some establishment could be procured. Goldsmith, however, na willing to be a burden to his friend, a short time after eagerly embraced an offer which was made him, to assist the late Dr. John Milner, a dissenting minister of eminence, in instructing the young gentlemen of the academy at Peckham. It was during the time of his being usher at Dr. Milner's thal Goldsmith commenced author and the earliest performance of his, now known, was, The Memoirs of a Protestant, condemned to the Gallies of France for his Religion Written by himself. Translated from the Original, just published at the llague, by James Willington ; 1758, iwo volumes, 12mo. for which Mr. Edward Dilly paid him twenly guineas. At Dr, Milner's table, sometime in the year 1758, he happened to meet with Mr. Ralph Griffths, the originator and proprietor of The Monthly Review, who invited him to become a writer in that work, and offered him such terms as onr nuthor deemed worth acceptance, viz. lodging, board, and a liberal salary. By a wrilien agreement, this engagement was to last for a year; but at the expiration of seven or eight months it was dissolved by mutual consent; and Goldsmith took a smoky, miserable apartment, in Green Arbour Courl, near the Old Bailey, immediately over Breakneck Steps, as they are vulgarly called; where he completed a work that he had before began, entitled, An Inquiry into the present state of polite Learning in Europe. This was pablished by Dodsley in 1759, and obtained its writer some reputation. In October, of the same year, he began The Bee, a weekly publication, of which, however, only eight numbers were printed. In the following year he became known to Ir. Smollett, who was then editor of The British Magazine; and for that work he wrote most of those essays and tales which were alterwards collected and published in a separate volume. He also contributed occasionally to The Critical Review ; in fact, it was the merit which he discovered in criticising a despicable translation of Ovid's Epistles, by a schoolmaster, and his Inquiry into the present State of polite Learning, that first introduced him to the acquaintance of Dr. Smollett, who recommended him to some respectable booksellers, by whom he was afterwards patronized. Among these, Goldsmith's most forinpale connexion was with the celebrated Mr. John Newbery, of philanthropic memory, who being a principal proprietor of The Public Ledger, engaged him at a salary of 100 l. a year to write a periodical paper. Oar author accordingly undertook a series of what he called Chinese Letters, which were afterwards collected and pubJished in two volumes, under the title of the Citizen of the World; and they exhibit striking proofs of judgment, wit, and humour. On embarking in this undertaking, Goldsmith quitted his bovel in Green Arbour Court, removed to a decent apartment in Wine Orfice Court, Fleet Street, dropped the plain Mister, dubbed himself Doctor, and was afterwards commonly known and addressed as Dr. Goldsmith. Here he finished his Vicar of Wakefield; but at the time of its completion he was much embarrassed in his ciregistances, and very apprehensive of arrest; in fact, he was at Jast entrapped by the following artice. An ingenious limb of the law, yeleped a bailiff, being apprised of one of Goldsmith', foibles (a vanity of being noticed by distinguished persons), wrote a letter, stating that be was steward to a noblerpan, who was charmed with reading Goldsmith's last production, and had ordered him to desire the Doctor
to appoint a place where he might have the honour of meeting with bim, to conduct him to his Lordship. Poor Goldsmith swallowed the bait, and appointed the British Coffee-house, to which he was accompanied by his friend Mr. Hamilton, the prioler of The Critical Review, who in vain remonstrated on the singularity of the application. On their entering the coffee-room, the bailift paid his respects to Goldsmith, and desired that he might have the honour of immediately attending him: but they had scarcely entered Pall Mall, when the officer produced his writ. Mr. Hamilton generously paid the money, and rescued his critic from incarceration. It may be supposed, however, that Goldsmith was now out of cash. He sent to represent his case to Dr. Johnson, with whose acquaintance he had been sometimes honoured ; and Johnson disposed of the MS, of his Vicar of Wakefield, to Mr. Newbery, for 60 l. a sum (ns Goldsmith used to say) which he had been so little accustomed to receive in a lomp, that he felt himself under the embarrassment of Brazen in the play, whether he should build a privaleer or a playhouse with the money. But though the money was paid to him at the time, so litlle reputation had he then acquired, thal the book was not published till two or three years after, when The Traveller had fixed his fame. In the spring of the year 1765, Goldsmith took lodgings at Canonbury House, Islington, where he compiled, or revised and corrected, several publications, for his patron Mr. Newbery : particularly The Art of Poetry, 9 vols. 19 mo. and a Life of Nash, 8vo. Here also he wrote his History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 2 vols, 12 mo, a work which was by some attributed to the Earl of Orrery, but more commonly to George Lord Lyttleton; and wbat is rather singular, this generally-received opinion was never contradicled, either directly or indirectly, by those noblemen or their friends. In the yeur 1764, Goldsmith removed his abode to the Inner Temple, where he look chambers in the upper story of the Library Staircase. He was still, however, not much known, except among the booksellers, till the year 1765, when he completed and published The Traveller ; or, A Prospect of Society; a poem, which, as we have before remarked, lie had begun to write while he was in Switzerland; and of which Dr. Johnson pronounced, “that there had not been so fine a poem since the time of Pope.” This charming performance procured him the friendship of Lord Nugent, afterwards Earl of Clare, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Burke, Mr. Topham Beauclerc, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Langton etc., and he was elected one of the first members of “The Literary Club," which was jasl then instinted by Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Mr. Burke. In 1765, Goldsmith published his pathetic ballad of The Hermit, which he dedicated to the Countess (afterwards Dutchess) of Northumberland, and which soon became popular with those who could appreciate poctic merit. Having been this successful in the several walks of a critic, a novelist, and a moral poet, our author was encouraged to try his hand at the drama; and, on the 29th of January 1768, his Gorodnatured Man was performed for the first time at Covent Garden Thcalre. Il kept possession of the stage nine nights; but was not received with that general approbation which its intrinsic merit led his friends lo expect. By the probt of his three third nights however, and the sale of the copy-right, he nelted 500 l. With this money, and the savings made from the produce of his Roman History, 9 vols. and other compilations (which he used to call “building of books"), he descended from his allic story, on the Library Staircase, Inner Temple, and parchased chambers on the first floor of No, 2, Brick Court, Middle Temple, for which he gave 400 1. These he furnished in rather an elegant manner, enlarged his library, and commenced quite the man of lettered ease and consequence. At the establishment of the Royal Academy of Painting, in 1769, Goldsmith had, by the recommendation of Sir Joshua Reynolds to His Mad jesly, the honorary professorship of histury conferred upon him; and in the spring of 1770 his beautiful poem, The Deserted Villuge, was first pablished. A well-authenticated and characteristic anecdote of our author has been related, respecting this poem, Previous to its publication, the bookseller (the late Mr. Griffin, of Catherine Street, Strand) had given him a nole for one hundred guincas, for the copy; which Goldsmith mentioned some hours after to one of his friends, who observed, that it was a very great sum for so short a performance. “In truth (replied Goldsmith) I think so too; it is nearly five shillings a couplet, which is much more than the honest man can afford; and, indeed, more than any modern poetry is worth. I have not been easy since I received it, I will, therefore, go back and return him his note : " which he actually did, and left it to the bookseller to pay him according to the profits produced by the sale of the poem, which proved to be very considerable, and at least equal to the first doucear. In 1771 appeared his History of England, from the earlist Times to the Death of George II., 4 vols. 8vo. For this, Mr. Thomas Davies, the bookseller, gave him 500). He also wrote this year a Life of Purnell, which was prefixed tu a new edition of his poems. On the 15th of March 1773, his Comedy of she Stoops to Conquer, or, The Mistakes of a Night, was per. formed for the first time at Covent Garden Theatre. Notwithstanding this drama is in some parts rather luo farcical, and very improbable, it had a surprising run, and produced to Goldsmith a clear probt of 8ool. In relurn for Mr. Quick's exertions in the part of Tony Lumpkin, Goldsmith is said to have reduced Ledley's comedy of The Grumbler to a farce of one act; and it was performed for the benefit of that comcdian on the 8th of May. The principal characler of this petile piece (the Grumbler) was acted by Mr. Quick, and furnished great entertainment, especially in a scene with a dancing-master, who insists upon teaching the touchy old man to dance an Allemande, against his inclinalion. The piece, upon the whole, was well received; but it wants incident, and, excepting the parls represented by Mr. Quick and Mr. Sanders, was but indifferently supported in the performance, One of the last of his publications, of ans consequence, was, An Ilistory of the Earth and Animated Nature, in 8 vols. 8vo. which was printed in 1774, and for which he received 850 1. He had at this lime ready for the press The Grecian History, from the earliest State to the Death of Alexander the Great; which was afterwards printed in a yols. 8vo. He had also written at intervals, about this time, his Haunch of Venison, Retaliation, and some other little sportive sallies, which were not printed till after his death; Retaliation, indeed, was left unfinished. But, though his receipts had for a long time been very considerable, yet by his literal and indiscreet bene actions to poor authors, as Pardon, Pilkington, Hilfernan, Lloyd etc, and poor Irishmen, in fact, needy adventurers from all countries, together with an unhappy altachment to gaming, with the arls of which he was lille acquainted, and an habitual carelessness as to money-maliers, he became much embarrassed in his circumstances, and, in consequence, uneasy, fretful, and peevish. To this mental inquietude WAS superadded a violent stranguary, with which he had been some years afflicted; and this at length brought on a sort of occasional despondency, in which he used to express his great indifference about life. A nervous fever added to this despondency, which induced him, against the advice of his physicians, to take so large a portion of James's powder, tbal it was supposed to have contributed to his dissolution, which happened on the 6th of April 1774, after an illness of ten days.
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,
Comedy by Oliver Goldsmith. Acted at Covent Garden 1768. Many parts of this play exhibit the strongest indications of our author's comic talents. There is perhaps no character on the stage more happily imagined and more bigbly foished than Croaker's; nor do we recollect so original and successfal an incident as that of the letter wlich he conceives to be the composition of an incendiary, and feels a thousand ridiculous horrors in consequence of his absurd arprehension. Our audiences, however, having been recently exalted on the sentimental stilts of False Delicacy, a comedy by Kelly, regarded a few scenes in Dr. Goldsmith's piece as too low for their entertainment, and therefore treated them with unjustifiable severity. Nevertheless, The Good-natured Man succeeded, though in a degree inferior to its merit. Dr. Samuel Johnson declared the present to be the best comedy produced since The Provoked Husband, and that there had not been lately any such character on the stage as that of Croaker, Dr. Goldsmith seems to have taken the hint of the character from whom his play is named from the loyer of Miss Braddock, in his own Life of Beans Nash, p. 85.
Sir W. We must try him once more, howSCENE I.-An Apartment in Honerwood's lever; and I don't despair of succeeding; as, House.
by your means, I can have frequent opportu
nities of being about him, without being known. Enter Sir William Honeywood and Jarvis. What a pity it is, Jarvis, that any man's good
Sir W. Good Jarvis, make no apologies will to others should produce so much negfor this honest bluntness. Fidelity, like yours, lect of himself as to require correction; yet is the best excuse for every freedom. there are some faulls so nearly allied to ex
Jar. I can't help being blunt, and being cellence, that we can scarce weed out the very angry too, when I hear you talk of dis- vice without eradicating the virtue. [Exit. inheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, my master. All the
Enter HoneyWOOD. world loves him.
Honey: Well, Jarvis, what messages from Sir W. Say rather that he loves all the my friends this morning? world; that is bis fault.
Jar. You have no friends. Jar. I'm sure there is no part of it more Honey. Well, from nıy acquaintance then? dear to him than you are, though he has not Jar. [Pulls out Bills] A few of our usual seen you since he was a child.
cards of compliment, that's all. This bill from Sir W. What signifies his affection to me, your tailor, this from your mercer, and this or how can I be proud of a place in a heart from the little broker in Crooked-lane. He where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy says he has been at a great deal of trouble to entrance?
get back the money you borrowed. Jar. I grant you that he's rather too good-lo Honey. That I don't know; but I'm sure natur'd; that he's too much every man's man; we were at a great deal of trouble in getting that he laughs this minute with one, and cries him to lend it. the next with another; but whose instructions Jar. He has lost all patience. inay be thank for all this?
Honey. Then he has lost a very good thing. Sir W. Not mine, sure? My letters to him Jar. There's that ten guineas you were during my employment in Italy, taught him sending to the poor gentleman and his children only ihat philosophy which might prevent, not in the Fleet. I believe that would stop his defend, his errors.
mouth, for a while at least. Jar. Faith, begging your honour's pardon, Honey. Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their this same philosophy is a good horse in the mouths in the mean time? Must I be cruel stable, but an errant jade on a journey. because he happens to be importunale; and, Whenever I hear him mention the name on't, to relieve bis avarice, leave them to insupportI'm always sure he's going to play the fool. able distress ?
Sir W. Don't let us ascribe his faults to Jar. 'Sdeath! sir, the question now is how bis philosophy, ! entreat you. No, Jarvis, his to relieve yourself - yourself! Hav'n't I reason good nature arises rather from his fears of to be out of my senses, when I see things offending the importunate, than bis desire of going at sizes and sevens? 2) making the deserving happy:
Honey. Wbalever reason you may have Jar. What it rises from I don't know; but, for being out of your senses, I hope you'll to be sure, every body has it that asks it. allow that I'm not quite unreasonable for con
Sir W. Ay, or that does not ask it. I have linuing in mine. been now for some time a concealed spectator Jar. You're the only man alive in your of bis follies, and find them as boundless as present situation that could do Every bis dissipation
thing upon the waste. There's miss Richland Jar. And yet, faith, he has some fine name and her fine fortune gone already, and upon or other for them all. He calls his extrava- the point of being given to your rival. gance generosity, and his trusting every body Honey. I'm no man's rival. universal benevolence. It was but last week Jar. Your uncle in Italy preparing to disbe went security for a fellow whose face heinherit you; your own fortune almost spent; scarce knew, and that he called an act of ex- and nothing but pressing creditors, false friends, alted mu-mu-munificence; ay, that was the and a pack of drunken servants that your name he gave it.
kindness bas made unfit for any other family. Sir W. And upon that I proceed, as my Honey. Then they have the more occasion last effort, though with very little hopes to for being in mine. reclaim him. That very fellow has just ab- Jar. Šo!-What will you have done with sco:ded, and I have taken up the security. him that I caught stealing your plate in the Now my intention is to involve him in ficti- pantry? In the fact; I caught him in the fact. tious distress, before he bas plunged himself" Honey. In the fact! If so, I really think that into real calamity; to arrest him for that very we should pay him bis wages, and turn him debt, to clap an officerd) upon bim, and then off. let him see which of bis friends will come to Jar. Yes, he shall be turned off, the dog; bis relief.
we'll hang him, if it be only to frighten the Jar. Well, if I could but any way see him rest of the family. thoroughly vexed-yet, faith, I believe it im- Honey. No, Jarvis; it's enough that we have possible. I have tried to frei bim myself every lost what he has stolen, let us not add to it morning these three years; but instead of be- the loss of a fellow creature. ing angry, he sits as calmly to hear me scold, Jar. Well, here was the footman just now as he does to his hair-dresser.
to complain of the butler ; he says he does 1) To liave him arrested.
1) In disorder,